


price of a life

by Blueberries (Blueberries_Pen)



Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [21]
Category: DCU
Genre: Fucked Up Fluff, Hypothermia, I play fast and loose with prompts, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Necrophilia, Noncontober 2020, Size Difference, Temporary Character Death, This is a lot softer than the tags imply I SWEAR, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:48:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27144079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blueberries_Pen/pseuds/Blueberries
Summary: Either Slade will come back, or Robin will cease to be.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Slade Wilson
Series: NonconWhumpKinktober 2020 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947430
Comments: 6
Kudos: 38





	price of a life

**Author's Note:**

> Day 21:  
> Kinktober: size difference  
> Noncontober: Necrophilia  
> Whumptober: Hypothermia

_ Why?  _ The question burns him.

His fingers are a dull purplish blue. The streets are blindingly white, the buildings a dark murky gray. The skies should be blue too - they’re usually blue, but not today. They’re dull white, thick and heavy, dripping down thick, icy cold flakes down on the street. 

He shivers, arms shaking and legs trembling, but he isn’t wearing a coat. Can’t wear one. He’s not allowed. When Slade kicks him out, buries him in the snow for whatever punishment, he’s not allowed to wear warmer clothes then, so he isn’t now either. He’ll only wear it if Slade orders it.

But surely, Slade has to care, didn’t he? And doesn’t his master demand excellence in everything? Won’t he want Robin to be top form on a mission? Because… when he isn’t...

Blue tipped fingers tighten around the package he’s carrying. He can barely feel it, already losing sensation in his extremities, but it’s still there. He can still make it. Can go a little further. 

He walks doggedly through the streets, head down and trying to stay focused, glancing around furtively like someone might take that from him, but it doesn’t matter. No one looks at him. No one pays attention. No one cares, they never do, and when he slips into the sewers, still carefully hugging the package to his chest, no one cares still.

It’s quiet, and the question burns hotter on his tongue in the resounding silence.

“It’ll be okay,” he says softly to himself, voice shaky, the dark of the underground almost frightening.

Slade isn’t here to reassure him.  _ Why? _

Robin keeps his head down, sticks to the walls, and slinks through the tunnels and paths branching off from the sewers. His body aches, his fingers barely move, snowflakes clinging to his lashes and refusing to melt, but it’ll be okay soon. He just has to last a little longer. Just a little more.

When he finally sees the green glow, he wants to collapse in relief. But not yet. Carefully, he unties the package, and brings out the head. Slade’s head. His master’s head.

Parts of it are burned, but Robin’s hands are reverent as they touch it, hands barely covering Slade’s cheeks.

The head is the only thing he was able to save from the explosion. There are burns on him, too, scars that burn ever hotter with every passing minute, but Slade had taken it head on. 

Robin doesn’t know - doesn’t understand why he was allowed to survive when his master didn’t. 

Softly, small feet patter across black sand, he goes to the water’s edge, kneeling just in front of it. 

He doesn’t know if this will work, if just the head is enough - but if it isn’t, well. Robin kisses his master’s lips, blue on blue, Slade’s lips encompassing his own. It’s cold, which isn’t right. Slade is always burning hot, always heated words and fiery temper and this is  _ wrong.  _

He hugs it tight one last time, blinking back tears. If it doesn’t work, Robin, whatever he is, will simply cease tobe.

His is not an existence that can be without his master’s.

_ Please come back. Please tell me why. _

The head drops.

He waits, frozen and unblinking, on the sand, cold sinking deeper and deeper into his bones and freezing him solid with each second that passes. 

When it happens, it happens so fast that Robin almost misses it. On second, Slade isn’t there, and the next- 

-A harsh snarl, that cold glare, hands pinning him almost immediately down on the ground- 

_ -he is.  _

“M-master,” Robin gasps, still shivering, words slurred. But Slade is here, looming above him, Robin dwarfed entirely beneath the mass of Slade’s body. Things will be okay now. It has to be. “Master, master,  _ master.”  _ It’s all he  _ can  _ say, as Slade’s fingers roughly grope at him, tearing away clothes. “ _ Master,”  _ he sobs, because Slade is  _ here.  _

Hands curl at Slade’s shoulders, not to push him away - not that he could -, but to hold him, to reassure himself that Slade is there. And though his hands should be unfeeling cold, Slade’s heat still makes it through. Slade’s hands push against his shoulders, gripping his joints with enough force to make them creak, even break them if he wants, and all Robin does is sob in relief.

“Master,” he chants, unstopping, like if he stops, Slade will cease to be again.

Slade is here, holding him. Touching him. Fucking him.

This is  _ right,  _ this is the way things  _ should  _ be.

Robin whines, and spreads apart his thighs without prompt. Let Slade hurt him. Abuse him. Burn him. It’s what Robin deserves.

And for a while, that’s all Slade does, harshly fucking into him again and again, bruising and biting, pumping him full of hot come that makes Robin burn up from inside out, almost as much the question burns within him. He doesn’t know how long it goes, or how full he gets, but Slade starts talking again, eventually.

“The fuck did you  _ do,  _ kid?” he demands, voice still harsh, cock still fucking into Robin’s ass, a tiny indentation popping up on Robin’s hollowed stomach with each thrust.

“P-p-pit,” Robin stutters, blinking up through teary eyes at the man who owns him.

“Huh,” Slade says, grunting as he finally stills, coming within Robin again, but this time not moving again immediately. He looks down at Robin curiously, and Robin drinks in the sight of Slade  _ alive,  _ and  _ breathing,  _ and  _ here,  _ still  _ wanting  _ Robin.

Robin just keeps on crying, sniffling our frozen tears, unable to stop the sheer relief pouring out. He still has a purpose. Still can be  _ used,  _ by Slade. 

“Master?” he whispers softly, voice quiet and hoarse. 

“What?” Slade asks flatly, but he doesn’t sound annoyed.

Robin isn’t supposed to question his master, he knows that, but the question comes tumbling out anyway. “ _ Why?” _

Slade’s brows crease, like he has no idea what Robin is talking about. “Why  _ what?” _

And once he’s started, the words don’t stop. “The attack was aimed at  _ me.  _ You weren’t -  _ I’m  _ the one who was supposed to die,” he blurts out desperately,  _ needing _ to know. “Master… why - why did you take it instead?”

He’s just a apprentice. A boy. A whore, a slut,a bitch, whatever Slade wants him to be. He’s  _ Slade’s.  _ To be used and abused and  _ disposed  _ of, however his master liked. A useless, cumbersome toy that only held Slade back. He’s his master’s possession. Slade isn’t supposed to  _ die  _ for him. 

He isn’t - isn’t supposed to be  _ valued.  _

All that Robin is is worthless  _ trash. _

_ He isn’t worth his master’s life. _

Slade regards him coldly, slipping out of his ass, but waits long enough that Robin hopes he might get an answer.

What Slade says, instead, is this, “You need stop asking stupid questions, boy.” What he does, instead, is this: yanking Robin up by the hair, shoving his mouth in front of Slade’s cock. 

“Shut up and suck,” he commands.

And usually Robin  _ would,  _ he doesn’t want to be  _ bad,  _ but he can’t stop. Trembling arms curl around Slade’s thighs, just barely reaching around, and he looks up pleadingly. “Just - please,” he whispers, trying to focus on Slade’s face. “Don’t leave me alone again,  _ please.” _

Robin isn’t sure if he imagines the softening in Slade’s eye or the gentle brush of a thumb over his cheekbone before Slade shoves his cock down his throat, but it’s  _ enough _ .

He is useful, he is  _ wanted, _ in this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> This is so soft. Allow me to perish XD


End file.
